Hot and Cold
by Penguin
Summary: Hiroki/Nowaki. A stroll in the park, some ice cream and a plastic spoon - it's all very sweet and innocent. Maybe. Egoist fluff.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own Junjou Romantica; it all belongs to Shungiku Nakamura. I do not make money out of my fic and no copyright infringement is intended.

**Author's Note:** Written for the **junjou100** community on LiveJournal. Prompt: Ice cream.

**Hot and Cold**

It's a beautiful day, one of the first really warm days of spring, mild and balmy before the relentless heat of summer sets in.

They stroll leisurely through the park, inhaling the sweet, fresh scent of flowers, grass and trees in blossom, their hands occasionally brushing against each other, carefully casual. Nowaki is like a puppy let out on the lawn, Hiroki thinks; all curiosity and delight at everything the world has to offer – and he loves him for it, loves him so much that his heart is soft and warm like the spring air. But bad habits are hard to break and despite everything there's a frown on his face. He touches a finger between his eyebrows, wondering if Miyagi is right and the frown lines are becoming permanent. On days like this he'd like to smooth them out and smile like Nowaki, but he's not the smiling type.

"Oh, Hiro-san, look – let's have ice cream!"

The puppy has found a new and interesting toy.

"You spend too much time around kids at the hospital," Hiroki grumbles. "You know I don't like ice cream."

Nowaki is grinning down at him. "How can anyone not like ice cream?" The laughter in his voice clutches at Hiroki's heart.

"It's milky and slimy and too sweet," he complains. "Sorbet's okay, but ice cream… no, thank you."

He sits on a bench with his face turned to the sun, waiting, until Nowaki plops down beside him and hands him a paper cup. It contains one scoop of something violently cerise that may be raspberry sorbet, and an annoyingly small, blue plastic spoon. Nowaki's own cup is heaped with ice cream; chocolate and strawberry. Hiroki glares at the revolting colours and opens his mouth to say something, but just then Nowaki takes his first mouthful (his plastic spoon is red) and every coherent thought Hiroki ever had is wiped from his brain.

From the look of it, this is the best ice cream ever made or had. Nowaki's head falls back slightly and his eyes close as he rolls the vile stuff around in his mouth. Hiroki just stares at him, at the long black lashes against the smooth skin, at the Adam's apple bobbing as Nowaki swallows. Hiroki swallows, too, even though he hasn't tasted his sorbet yet. The desire to reach up and run his tongue from Nowaki's jaw down his neck is overwhelming.

The second mouthful is apparently just as enjoyable as the first. Head back, eyes closed, and he isn't moaning, exactly, but making a series of breathy noises that go straight to Hiroki's groin. He realises his own mouth is half open and closes it hastily, unable to take his eyes off Nowaki who is slowly licking the spoon. By the time the ice cream is finished and the tip of Nowaki's tongue comes out to catch the last, diminutive drop at the corner of his mouth, Hiroki is in agony.

He starts and blushes when Nowaki opens his eyes and looks at him, knowing his feelings must be written on his face. But Nowaki only says, reproachfully:

"Hiro-san, you haven't touched your sorbet."

Hiroki looks down at the mess in his cup, where the sorbet is now a small, frozen island in a lake of pink, frothy goo, and makes a face.

"Let's go home," he demands. "Now."

His gaze slides down to Nowaki's soft mouth again and down the neck; he can't help it.

Nowaki looks worried. "What's the matter, Hiro-san? Are you not feeling well?"

"No," Hiroki says truthfully, "I'm not."

***

Luckily it's only a ten-minute walk back to the flat, and Hiroki keeps glancing at Nowaki's hands, his long jeans-clad legs, the thick hair flopping into his eyes, and wondering how you can keep wanting someone so badly for so long. Sometimes it's like they're still in that glorious, glowing honeymoon stage of their relationship, when the other person is the only thing in the world that matters; the stage of complete adoration and insatiable desire.

When the door closes behind them he bursts out: "Don't _ever_ do that again!"

Nowaki blinks, bewildered. "What?"

Why, _why_ does he have to be so beautiful? Those eyes, and the combination of gentleness and power – it gets to Hiroki like nothing and no one has ever done before. And he doesn't like falling apart, doesn't like being undone; he doesn't want to be this emotional and succumb to all kinds of undignified desires...

"You practically had sex with that spoon!" he growls. "In public!"

The confusion in Nowaki's eyes dissolves into a truly wicked glitter that does strange things to Hiroki's knees, and Hiroki can only stare back defiantly.

"Hiro-san," Nowaki says, "you're so cute!"

"Stop saying that!" Hiroki protests, in vain.

It can't be helped; he wants to trade places with that spoon and be held by Nowaki's hands, caressed by his tongue. He reaches up to push his fingers through Nowaki's thick hair and pulls him down into a kiss, their bodies melting into each other.

Nowaki's ever-warm hands are working their way under Hiroki's shirt and he gasps at the touch, embarrassed by the fact that he's already hard, but then so is Nowaki and it's all good. From the feeling of the kiss Hiroki can tell it's going to be one of those really great times, as sweet as Nowaki's ice cream and as hot as the coffee Hiroki much prefers.


End file.
